


black white rhythm

by atlantisairlock



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Angst, Backstory, Domestic Violence, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, Homophobic Language, Hopeful Ending, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Violence, Misunderstandings, Pilots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2618672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlantisairlock/pseuds/atlantisairlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of lies, of love, and of letting go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. white

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by rged's eyp, "airborne".
> 
> title from the theme song of the TVB drama 'emergency unit'.

This is what Jemma knows to be true -

Leopold Fitz is eighteen years old. Leopold Fitz has a condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, which means the walls of his heart are thicker than they should be. Leopold Fitz works with her at the Cavalry Cafe located within Southwest Hampstead International Landing & Departures, which is a really fancy name for the region's airport that everyone just calls SHIELD. Leopold Fitz has a bigger heart than most people, literally and metaphorically. Leopold Fitz hates being called by his full name, and prefers "Leo" infinitely. Leopold Fitz has a major heart operation in five hours. Leopold Fitz is really good at baking. 

Leopold Fitz is her very best friend. 

 

 

"Jem, you've got the sun in your hair! It looks beautiful."

Jemma looks up at the sunbeams streaming through the window and squints at the sudden brightness, then turns to smirk at Fitz cleaning the cafe tables behind her. "Can't say the same about you, Fitz. All you've got in your hair is dandruff."

The statement is accompanied with a melodramatic gasp and chest-clutching, and Jemma's heart skips a beat. She just manages to force a light smile on her face, navigating her way between the tables and plucking the rag out of Fitz's hands. "Sitdown! I can manage the tables. And if your dad comes in right now, he'll make a giant case about you exerting yourself."

Fitz just rolls his eyes, but plops obediently down onto a chair. "Cleaning tables is  _hardly_ physical exertion. I used to bake ten batches of cookies when I worked here, and I was fine."

"That was before you had an operation in five hours," Jemma huffs, folding her arms and staring down at him. "Once the operation's done and your dad lets you come back and work here with me, I'll let you bus the tables all day if you want. Lord knows I need the help."

It's meant to be a joke, teasing, but his face crumples at her words. The light in Fitz's eyes grows a little duller as he draws circles on the tabletop with one finger. "You think I'll come back, then?" 

"Of course you'll come back!" Her smile is plastic, her voice too high-pitched. "The operation will go fine, and then I'll finally have another pair of hands back here at Cavalry." 

Her best friend doesn't meet her eyes, and he's the one with the heart condition but Jemma's heart squeezes so hard it hurts. "I'm scared, Jem." It's quiet and shaky, and for all of Fitz's optimism and strength, he's just an eighteen-year-old, after all. "What if something goes wrong? What if Doctor Morse isn't there in time? What if they cut something wrongly? What if I just... don't make it?"

And this is what Jemma knows to be true -

It  _won't_ happen. Leopold Fitz is strong, and brave, and he'll make it.

He'll make it.

 

 

Fitz's father saves her from having to say anything, rushing back into the Cavalry with an apologetic smile on his face. "Thanks for watching after him while I took the call, Jemma. Come on, Leo! We've got to go."

"All right, Dad." Fitz's on his feet, waving goodbye, and just before he exits he mouths _how's your pilot_ and if he wasn't due for his operation later that night, Jemma'd probably fling a glass at him. 

 _She's not my pilot!_ Jemma texts him almost immediately after he's out of the door, and Fitz sends her a slew of reaction photos that all contain people rolling their eyes, followed by  _every time I'm at the cafe, you talk about her! You should tell her how you feel._

_She's THIRTY! She's an entire decade older than I am!_

_See? You even know her age!_

_Shut up, Leopold!_

_See you tonight!_

 

 

This is what Jemma knows to be true -

Her -  _the_ pilot is thirty years old. She's very, very pretty. She orders an oatmeal raisin cookie, bran muffin and chamomile tea every time she comes to the cafe. She flies on BUS Intercontinental, one of the most reputable airlines in the whole world. She cleans up the table before she leaves. She smiles at Jemma whenever she comes to the Cavalry. One time Fitz accidentally spilled milk and cornflakes over her pants and she didn't even get angry, just asked if he was all right.

She really likes the pilot.

 

 

She always saves a cookie and a muffin for the pilot, who comes in a few minutes after Fitz leaves. 

"Busy day?" Jemma hazards when she bites into the cookie, trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach. 

"Not really. A round-trip - there and back, about eight hours total. I might not have time for dinner, though." There's that smile, and it's so charming, especially when she's decked out in uniform. 

Jemma takes that to heart, packages a croissant and cheese sandwich in a neat paper bag and hands it to the pilot when she finishes her tea. "One for the road?"

The pilot looks up in surprise, and for the first time Jemma notices the name tag she's pinning onto her top. "How much is it?"

"It's on the house." She can't stop herself from smiling really wide, even though she knows if Fitz were here he'd laugh obnoxiously loudly at how lovestruck she is - she  _isn't!_. "You're a regular, after all."

The smile on her face is different. Softer. Warmer. "Thank you... Jemma."

"You're welcome."  _Melinda._

She closes for the day a lot happier than she's been in a while.

 

 

The hospital smells clean, a sharp kind of clean that makes her cringe. Fitz is being prepped for the operation by a nurse at his bedside, and his father looks on, lines of worry etched into his face. He looks like he's waiting for something.

For someone. 

The nurse pats Fitz's hand reassuringly before he leaves; Fitz's father grabs her wrist before she exits the ward. "Excuse me... where's Doctor Morse?"

"She should be on her way. Don't worry, sir." 

 

 

One hour. Fifty minutes. Forty minutes. Half an hour. 

"Dad. Where's Doctor Morse?"

"Don't worry, son. She'll be here soon."

Twenty minutes. Ten minutes. Five minutes. One minute. 

"Dad, Doctor Morse is coming - right?"

"Of course she is. She'll be here right away."

He says that even as Fitz's being wheeled into the operating theatre, the pain crippling and the anaesthesia starting to take effect.  _"_ I'll see you later," Jemma whispers before he goes under, and she swears he smiles. 

The doors close, the hours begin to tick on, and the good doctor, the specialist who's been attached to Fitz's case from the very beginning, the woman who's never failed them... 

 

 

This is what Jemma knows to be true -

Doctor Bobbi Morse is a cardiologist. Doctor Bobbi Morse has been working with Fitz since he was seven. Doctor Bobbi Morse can't bake to save her life, and she and Fitz know it well. Doctor Bobbi Morse is a stickler for punctuality. Doctor Bobbi Morse was on the first flight in from overseas to operate on Fitz. Doctor Bobbi Morse was supposed to be at the hospital three hours ago. Doctor Bobbi Morse has never failed them.

 

 

Only this time, she has.

 

 

Four hours into the operation, said doctor's condensed an explanation for her lateness to Fitz's father -  _turbulence. plane was rerouted and delayed. i'm sorry -_  and she's at the doors of the theatre trying to get the supervising surgeon to let her in and complete the operation.

_We need to talk to you in private, sir. You're his father? His mother...?_

_She's not here anymore. What is it? What's wrong?_

_Sir, I need to pre-empt you. Your son..._

_No! You get in there, you have to save him. Just save him!_

His voice rings in Jemma's ears, and she's not sure when she starts trying to pull Fitz's father back, when she starts trying to stop him from screaming at the surgeon. Doctor Morse is speaking rapid-fire to the nurse on-duty -  _I can complete the operation, please let me in, I can save him,_

 

 

This is what Jemma knows to be true - 

She hears his heart stop beating. 

 

 

They let her see his body. She's not sure how long she's there, just staring over at Fitz, but it's  _not_ Fitz, it can't be Fitz, because Fitz always smiles and he laughs at all her jokes no matter how stupid they are and he has more sunshine in his heart than she ever did in her hair and this can't be Fitz because Fitz is alive, he's fine, he's going to be at the cafe once he recuperates from the operation. 

They tell her she was there for fifteen minutes, but Jemma knows better - she was there from the genesis of the universe as they know it all the way to the moment the stars shattered before her eyes, she was there for an eternity and a half. She thinks she cries, the ache welling up beneath her ribs and burning slow down every nerve ending until she just can't feel anything, anymore. 

They have to force her out of there, because her knuckles go white against the metal and she tells them she just has to stand there and talk to him a little longer, because then he'll surely open his eyes and laugh at her and mouth  _how's your pilot_ at her again. 

 

 

One more word. One more laugh. One more hug. One more anything. Just one more.

Jemma closes her eyes, bites her lip, digs her nails into her palm to make a fist around everything she  _knows_ to be true. 

That Leopold Fitz is her very best friend.

That she promised him that he was going to be fine, and that she was going to see him after the operation. 

That he was supposed to be busing tables at Cavalry with her after he recovered.

That he can't be dead.

He can't. 


	2. black

The pilot and the air stewardess. Everyone at the wedding called it a perfect love story, accompanied by a perfect proposal - Ward proposed with a novelty cupcake ring at Cavalry Cafe, where they had their first date - and a perfect wedding - on a plane, where else?. Melinda doesn't remember a time she felt happier than when she was decked in full maid-of-honour dress and held Skye's gown until she reached the altar set up near the galley. Ward joked - he still joked, then - that it was the first time in over a decade he'd been on an aeroplane when he wasn't flying it. 

They were so happy. All of them. Three of them. 

She's forgotten what that feels like.

 

 

Three months after the wedding, Melinda walks into an airport bathroom to see Skye frantically applying concealer to a bruise on her cheek. 

That should be the first warning sign, she knows. Ward's been distancing himself - and Skye - from Melinda since the wedding, and there's a twinkle in his eyes that's been replaced by something more resembling fire when he looks at her. He treats her with hostility, a glaring change from his previous behaviour. She's seen the tic in his jaw, the twitch of his muscles, the unconscious clenching of his fists when he chances upon Skye and Melinda having a casual chat at the Cavalry. 

All she says as she walks up to the sink to wash her hands is  _hey._

"Hey," Skye answers, vacant, absent, anxiety written all over her expression, and Melinda  _knows_ something is wrong, knows it has to do with Ward, knows the hundreds of ways it could unfold into tragedy. 

 _Do something,_ everything inside her screams.  _Say something. Anything._

Instead: 

"Better hurry... we're taking off soon."

Her best friend nods tersely, and Melinda can feel the relief washing over her like a tide. 

She wants to trust Ward. She needs to. The bruise must have been caused some other way. The alternative is too horrifying to consider.

 

 

The girl at the cafe offers her _one for the road_ , which is the sweetest gesture Melinda's seen all day. 

It's the truth; it's not supposed to be a busy day, or one that stands out from her usual routine in any way. It's really not. 

But when they reach DR and she's grabbing a drink in the lounge to go along with her sandwich, Skye's there, rolling up the sleeves of her outfit to expose scarred arms marked with fresh wounds. 

The paper bag she's holding falls to the ground with the barest thud, and when Skye looks up at her the fear in her eyes makes Melinda want to throw up. Everything she's been sweeping under the carpet, everything she's been denying, everything she's known from the very beginning in the back of her mind... it's true. 

It's true. 

There are three B's, or at least that's what she comes to realise during the transit at the overseas terminal. Bruises, burns, the belt. 

"It's not his fault," Skye yells at her even as she's carefully placing a waterproof band-aid on the expanse of her abdomen. "He's just  _stressed._ Work is hard. He just... loses it sometimes. But he's trying, Melinda! Ward's trying, he really is. He's trying to change for me." She's always been stubborn, always stood her ground even when she's biting her lower lip trying to quell the tears. 

"Skye, it's domestic abuse! It's  _illegal!_ It's wrong! What are you going to do, just let it keep happening? He's hurting you, Skye, and if you don't do anything about it he's going to keep acting out like this. And it's just going to get  _worse -_ "

Skye interrupts her, fists clenched and shaking her head wildly. "It won't! He's getting better, Melinda. Everything's going to be fine. Please." Her voice drops a little lower. "Promise me that you won't talk to Ward about this on the flight home. Promise me like you've always promised."

They've been best friends for over a decade and over a hundred promises must've been made, from the silliest trivialities to the gravest matters. Melinda knows for a fact she's never broken any of the promises she's made to Skye, and she wears that like a badge of honour.

She meets Skye's gaze, steady and determined. "I'm sorry, Skye. But that's a promise I can't make."

 

 

The flight from DR Airport to SHIELD takes a route that estimates about three hours, give or take. Even the turbulence this BUS flight might hit midway won't throw them off too much. It's more than enough time to confront Ward, far above the earth, away from everything and everyone. 

 _He was never this confrontational or defensive,_ Melinda knows with all her heart when she broaches the subject and Ward pretty much blows his stack. "Don't fucking tell me what to do in my own marriage, May! Stay the hell out of our affairs!"

"It's not just your affairs when it's  _abuse,_ Ward!"

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

"I know  _exactly_ what I'm talking about! Don't you dare deny it. Are you  _human?_ You used a belt on her? On your own wife!"

" _My_ wife, May. Not yours. So you damn well stay out of things that don't concern you!"

"She's my  _best friend!"_

"And that's all she'll ever be, mind that!"

Melinda's nails dig further into her callused palm. "You think I'm doing all this because I'm trying to steal her away from you?"

The frown on Ward's face warps into an ugly sneer. "That's what you're trying to do, isn't it? Don't think I don't know what the fuck you're doing, May, having lunch with her whenever you can at the Cavalry? Talking to her all the time? Staying by her side? She's _mine."_

"She's not _yours;_ she's not a thing, she's a person! You don't own her, you're  _responsible_ for her. And she's been my best friend since I was a girl, and that's never changed, Ward. That's  _all_ I feel towards Skye. I was so happy for both of you when you fell in love, the two people in the world I loved the most, because I thought you were so  _right_ for each other. When the hell did that turn into shit, Ward? When did you turn into a  _monster?"_

"A monster?" Ward spits the word out like it's bitter poison. " _I'm_ the monster? There's only one monster in this cockpit, May, you fucking _dyke bitch._ "

They hit a  _really_ bad patch of turbulence just about the moment Melinda leaps up and wraps her fingers around his throat.

 

 

It's the last thing she can recall in full clarity, in vivid colour. Everything else is static, blurry washed-out sepia. Something about injuries, something about mechanical failure, something about the plane having to be rerouted and delayed. Melinda ends up under investigation with BUS for unprofessional conduct and some other issue that the bosses are frantic about, something about compensation and complaints and a doctor or something, Melinda doesn't know.

She could lose her license forever, but what else can she do?

No; what's important is Skye. Skye, with violent purple bruises scattered on her pale skin, inconspicuous cigarette burns in places people don't look. 

Skye.

 

 

Skye is pronounced dead three days after the flight. 

The story comes in bits, trickles, jigsaw pieces she has to fumble with until she fits them all together to make a picture. She got into an argument with Ward about taking long-haul flights so she'd be home less often, citing a need to distance herself from him for a while so they can make their marriage work. He struck out; she got hurt. She went to work anyway. She collapsed in-flight. They diverted the plane to the nearest airstrip possible, but by the time they got there, it was too late.

Her legs give out when they let her see her body, alabaster-pale, fragile, a canvas that tells of pain and fear. They take Ward in, of course, but it's too late. It's too late. 

Melinda doesn't think she could ever return to Cavalry Cafe again. 


	3. grey

You think you've hit rock bottom, that it can't possibly get worse, and then life throws another curveball in your face. 

Fitz's father demands an explanation for Doctor Morse's lateness, and when there's nothing she can say except that the plane was rerouted, apparently due to heavy turbulence, and delayed... the only logical way of proceeding from there is looking for answers from the airline. 

She's packing up what Fitz left behind in the cafe when his father comes to pick up the carton of belongings. The fury in his expression makes her flinch, and his words make it even worse. 

"Leo was killed by the pilot of the plane."

Her hands begin to tremble, and Jemma has to place the cardboard box on a table before it slips right out of her hands. "What? What do you mean?"

"She attacked her co-pilot in the cockpit. She started a fight, that's why they hit turbulence and had to struggle to regain control on the plane and that's why they ran out of enough fuel and had to reroute. That's why the doctor was delayed, Jemma. That's why Leo died! And I'm going to make sure she gets her due punishment. I'm going to make sure this... this Melinda May suffers as much as he did!"

It feels like time itself freezes on the spot. 

Melinda?

The pilot?

 _Her_ pilot?

No. It can't be. It can't be. 

She hands Fitz's things over in silence, still reeling from the shock. The moment his father leaves Cavalry with a hushed murmur of  _thank you, Jemma,_ her legs give out on her. It's not...

Jemma doesn't know how long she sits there, legs splayed, unable to stop her tears. Even Melinda entering the cafe doesn't drive her to get up and compose herself. She can't. 

Not when it's Fitz.

 

 

Melinda can't help but be drawn back to Cavalry, whatever she said. The place holds fond memories of Skye; there's no way she could avoid it forever. It's a little disorienting when she enters and Jemma is sitting on the floor, a sobbing heap. 

"Hey..." She takes a few steps over and squats down, concerned. "Are you all right?"

Jemma looks up at her, something flickering in her eyes, before she jumps to her feet with a carefully crafted blankness on her face. "Bran muffin, oatmeal raisin cookie and chamomile?" 

Skye always ordered a danish and a slice of cheesecake. Melinda shakes her head, ordering what Skye would have asked for if she were at Cavalry. Jemma gives her a terse nod and carefully plates a slice of cake, not meeting Melinda's eyes. 

"Bad day?" Melinda asks softly, pushing a few bills over the countertop. "Where's your friend? The boy who works here alongside you?" 

The corners of Jemma's mouth slip down and cold ice glazes her eyes. "He's dead."

Of all the answers she was expecting, Melinda  _definitely_ didn't see that coming. Her hand stills by her side - she knows all too well what it's like to have a friend, a best friend, die. "I'm sorry."

The girl mutters something under her breath, serving her the food she ordered before lifting her head and staring right into Melinda's eyes. "You came in a while ago, didn't you? I gave you one for the road. You said you had an eight-hour round trip back. Why wasn't it?"

"... what?"

"Why did you reroute the plane?" 

"Jemma, how do you know - "

"Just answer me!" Jemma screams, the tears pricking hot at her eyes, and it's not lost on her how Melinda takes an instinctive step back. "Why?"

Whether it's her pure rage, or a need to be honest with someone, anyone, Melinda feels compelled to tell her the truth. "My co-pilot... I overreacted to something he said. It was unprofessional. I attacked him and we... fought. The turbulence... we couldn't get the plane in control fast enough. We wouldn't have enough fuel to get back... we had to reroute."

_No._

_It's true._

Jemma's fingers grip the edge of the countertop so hard her knuckles turn as white as they did that night when she saw Fitz's cold, pale body lying on a gurney. "How could you? You were in the air, you were risking hundreds of lives, you  _attacked your co-pilot?_ "

"Jemma... listen, I know there's no excuse for what I did - "

"You're right! There isn't." Her voice goes abruptly from high-pitched to low and threatening. "Listen to me, and listen well. My friend, the boy who used to work here alongside me? The one who spilled milk on you once upon a time? His name was Fitz; he was my best friend. He had a heart condition. It plagued him all his life. He had a specialist attached to his case, a brilliant cardiologist. That night your plane was flying back, he was due for a major operation. His specialist should have been there. She was taking the first flight in so she'd be in time to save his life. She was already cutting it close; she could have been ten, fifteen minutes late. But not three hours! A replacement surgeon had to operate on him and that surgeon couldn't save him! She was on that flight! She was on that flight and she could have made it back in time and you  _killed him!"_  Her tears are blurring her vision so badly she can't see Melinda, and maybe that's not a bad thing. "You killed him! You killed my best friend!" 

There's a crash and a thud as Melinda sinks to the floor. 

"No..." 

"I respected you so much, you know." Jemma bites her lip. Fitz told her once never to hold on to anger, because all it did was eat away at your soul, but she can't even begin to comprehend the alternative. "Get out. I never want to see you again!"

 

 

Melinda doesn't even want to look herself in the mirror.

The board of directors sits her down in front of Fitz's father and he curses her out for a full three minutes while they try to pacify him. Melinda takes the verbal assault without a word. She can't,  _won't_ defend herself against the man who lost his only son. All she can see in her mind is Jemma in tears. 

Ward wasn't worth it, and now?

He wants compensation, he wants a formal apology, he wants Melinda fired.

She turns in her license without a single protest, just stops Fitz's father before he leaves. "Sir... please... when will his funeral be?"

He actually tells her, and Melinda could cry from gratitude. All the apologies in the world could never bring Leo Fitz back... but she needs to say them to him anyway.

 

 

Doctor Morse gives an eulogy at Fitz's funeral, and Jemma gets to say a few words, too. It's on the soapbox that she notices Melinda amongst the sea of faces, and she thinks her heart stops beating.

She's had time to think about everything, of course. Part of her wants so desperately to shove all the blame on Melinda, to hate her for the rest of her life. But she knows it's not what Fitz would have wanted. That he would have forgiven her, or at least tried to understand why she did what she did. He had a big heart. Literally, and metaphorically. The only way he ever knew how to live was kindly. 

Jemma corners Melinda just as she's about to slip out unnoticed. "We need to talk." She takes a deep breath. "You owe me this much."

There's undisguised sadness and surprise in her expression, but Melinda nods. "All right."

 

 

They're pretty close to the airport, so they wind up in Cavalry again. Melinda's visibly uncomfortable, shifting on her seat as Jemma tries to get the question out right.

"Listen... that night, on the plane. Why did you... why did you attack your co-pilot?"

"Because I overreacted, I thought I - "

"No, I mean, what did you overreact to?" 

"Jemma, why do you want to know?"

"Because Fitz would have wanted to." It comes out too soft, too broken. "Because he would have tried to understand... he would have forgiven. I can't promise the last bit, Melinda, but I want to know, too."

So Melinda tells her, about the angry flame-red burns on Skye's skin, about open welts on her back, about the words Ward threw at her in the cockpit, about how she's revoked her license, about how she doesn't expect forgiveness, about how she accepts responsibility. Jemma listens, swinging her feet, and puts a cookie and a muffin on a plate just as Melinda finishes telling her side of the story. 

"Here." 

It's not forgiveness, far from it. Not yet. But it's a start. She knows better, now. And she can understand. 

Melinda eats in silence and fishes for her wallet, but Jemma pushes her hand back. "It's on the house." There's a ghost of a smile on her face, even though her eyes are too-bright with tears, and she squeezes Melinda's fingers lightly. "One for the road?"

The once-pilot looks down at Jemma's hand in hers, and nods. 

 

 

Life goes on. Time doesn't stop for anyone, no matter how much we want to wallow in grief. Melinda stops coming to Cavalry; there's no reason for her to patronise it frequently now that she doesn't pass through SHIELD all the time. That doesn't stop Jemma from thinking about her and wondering how she is, though. 

She's not surprised when she visits Fitz's grave a year later and Melinda's there, laying flowers by the headstone. 

"You came," Jemma smiles at her, and she hasn't changed a bit. "It's been a while. How've you been?"

It's easy to slip back into normal conversation, and it almost feels like Fitz is there with them, softening the atmosphere. Which is why it feels like the question comes right out of nowhere.

"Jemma... do you think you could ever forgive me?"

And it's funny - you think hate and anger isn't that big a burden. You think you can carry it your whole life, and that sooner or later it won't even be a weight anymore; it'll come so naturally that it'll be as if it was always a part of you. You think the hard part is letting go of that righteous rage, and at some point you don't even realise it's already slipped off your shoulders, and you never even knew. Jemma gives her a sidelong glance and a lopsided smile. "I think I already did... a long time ago."

It's the day she really comprehends how much harder it is to forgive yourself, because guilt is so much harder to shed than anger.

There's a long journey ahead for Melinda, Jemma knows. And maybe there are some burdens you never stop carrying; she can see it in the minute slump of her shoulders and the weary darkness in her eyes. She leans up and presses her lips against Melinda's cheek, and she  _swears_ she feels Fitz somewhere in there too, as if she's doing it on his behalf, as well, lingering. 

"One for the road." 

And maybe one day, Melinda will finally be able to kiss her back.

**Author's Note:**

> in lieu of a now-removed comment:
> 
> this fanfiction is very heavily based on a school production i had the honour to attend. every single character in the story is following in the footsteps of the characters in aforementioned school production - airborne, if anyone bothered to read the chapter note in the first chapter. in airborne, the antagonist is a very clear antagonist, but nevertheless it's clear to see that his partner - in this case, recasted as melinda - also shoulders a hefty bit of blame for the incident that happens on the plane. If one had watched airborne, it's glaringly obvious that despite all the provocation endured by melinda's character inspiration within the performance, it is still his choice to attack ward's character inspiration in the cockpit, delay the plane, and indirectly cause the passing of an innocent. 
> 
> in airborne, her character inspiration is held accountable for his actions and suffers the penalty for it; melinda is based on him and I see no reason why she should walk his same footsteps in this fictional adaptation. if i had shipped anything else in aos, it might have been anyone from phil to tripp in her place instead. melinda is only casted in the position she's in because of the endgame I want to achieve and for no other reason at all. 
> 
> furthermore: in airborne, the lines are already blurred - who's to blame for the death of fitz's character inspiration is not clear cut; in fact, it's a major plot point addressed by a very heartrending scene within the performance. whose fault it is that fitz -and his character inspiration - loses his life is a murky issue in airborne and naturally, it's a murky issue here as well. who's to blame that fitz died? ward, for his actions that led to the attack? melinda, for her unprofessional conduct? maybe even bobbi, who should have been by fitz's side in his time of need but wasn't? it's an open question and it wasn't meant to be answered by this adaptation. who the reader interprets the culprit to be is _up to them_ , and if your interpretation isn't satisfactory, i'm sorry, but i take no responsibility for it. 
> 
> airborne does not actively put the blame on any character for causing fitz's character inspiration to die. in respect for it, i have done my best to convey the same. beyond that, all reader interpretation is out of my hands.
> 
> thank you for reading this fanfiction; i hope it has been enjoyable, in some way or another.


End file.
